All I Possess
by Kuromei Aibyouka
Summary: AU Prompt. "We must do this, for the good of Ferelden." What has she done?
1. Loss

**This is the first time I have responded to a prompt:**

**Alistair did become king and the Warden (who did not become queen because she wasn't Cousland) was his mistress for a while before having to leave. But the Warden hid something from Alistair when she left. And that was that she was pregnant with his child. Knowing the risks of trying to raise a child while fighting Darkspawn the Warden gave her child to a friend to raise as their own but refused to name the father. Maybe years later Alistair meets the Inquisitor and notices, during the short time he's with them that the Inquisitor looks a lot like his old lover the Warden. So later on Alistair writes to her and tells her all about the Inquisitor and how much they are just like the Warden. Alistair gets a letter back from her, a letter that confesses to her giving birth to his child and that the Inquisitor is that child. (The timeline is wrong, but that's why it's AU)**

**WARNINGS: Adult language and mildish sexual themes. Nothing too graphic, but there's your warning.**

**DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own Dragon Age. You won't get shit if you try to sue me.**

**There will be many questions, I know. There are probably many mistakes. I know. But I had to do this for my favorite mage, Surana.**

**I've never played Inquisition, so sue me. I don't know much about the game, forgive my errors. This is, however, an AU.**

**I am aware that in this fic she is only called by her last name. My Surana goes by her last name because it's prettier. Deal with it.**

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><p>She stayed.<p>

Even through Alistair was marrying Anora in a few short weeks, she stayed. Alistair could hardly believe it.

It seemed like one of those dreams where everything good and impossible was happening. She killed the archdemon, and they had both survived. Not only was he alive, but he was suddenly King of Ferelden and marrying his late half-brother's wife. Weird, but amazing.

It was better than he ever could have imagined waiting for her return.

He could have screamed when she forced him to stay behind when she went to Fort Drakon to face the archdemon.

"You're going to be King, Alistair," she'd told him. "They need you."

Dare he say that _he_ needed _her_?

"I love you."

Then he'd watched, helpless, as the top of the fort all but exploded. _Did she survive?_ He asked himself. He prayed she had. He prayed harder than he'd ever done before in his life that she had.

The last of the darkspawn fled, leaving their backs unguarded. Alistair and the others managed to kill quite a few of the when they turned tail. Alistair took no part in chasing them, however. When his last darkspawn was felled, he turned back towards the gates and _ran_. He ran straight through the smoldering rubble of the city, dodging soldiers and anything else that got in his way.

Let her live, let her live, let her live.

What if Morrigan's ritual didn't work? What if Morrigan made it up? What if they were killed in the explosion?

Eyes stinging from more than dust, he pushed his tired legs to move him faster.

He saw Zevran first.

The Antivan elf was barely recognizable from the gore that covered him from head to toe. But he was smiling, white teeth standing out against dark skin and blood. He was triumphant; smug, victorious smirk in place as he swaggered around the corner.

Morrigan wasn't far behind. She was definitely cleaner than the elf, but her skin was more pale than usual with exhaustion and she leaned heavily on her staff. She was glaring at the wreckage of the once proud city, but that was nothing new.

And then Fang came bounding around the corner and straight up to Alistair, his stubby tail wagging madly as he jumped around with delight. His muzzle was dripping with blood, but the mabari didn't seem to care and his tongue lolled out the side in his version of a grin.

But then, nothing else mattered as a small, familiar form followed the dog. Her forest green eyes met his own amber ones, and she hurled herself into his open arms.

He crushed her to him, kissing her sweaty dark hair, only vaguely aware of anything else.

"You're alive," he managed to whisper, his voice thick with relief. As droplets of water splattered into her hair, he realized he was crying.

And judging from her shaking form, he wasn't the only one.

"I'm alive," she assured him breathlessly. "I'm alive, Alistair. We're alive."

He pulled back enough to look at her.

Maker, she was alive. His Surana was alive. Her long, midnight hair in it's usual updo of twin braids coiled around the back of her head; her lovely eyes, bright with tears of her own; her face, clear and unscathed from the battle. There was a long gash down her arm and she seemed to favor one leg over the other, but other than that, she was fine. She was safe. She was his.

* * *

><p>After the coronation and wedding, things got easier, and things got harder.<p>

The political world was just as cutthroat at a battlefield. Alistair preferred battle, as at least then you knew who your enemies were. He was immediately swarmed with countless dukes, duchesses, teyrns, arls, banns, all important people, all wanted and fought for his attention and favor. Thank the Maker they more often than not went after Anora instead.

Anora was an incredible leader; of that there was no doubt. Alistair simply hoped she was what was best for Ferelden.

And if his new queen knew of his continued relationship with a certain elven mage hero, she didn't let on. Either she was oblivious (which wasn't likely in Alistair's opinion), or she knew and didn't wish to make anyone uncomfortable by saying something.

Surana was his only constant; his calm in the storm that was life as a royal. He couldn't have done it without her. He needed her.

Her comforting hands were there to soothe him when he was tense and upset. Her quick wit was there to defend him whenever a noble insulted his intelligence. Her advice was there to aid him when he didn't know how to keep the country together. Her eager body was there to accept his when he ached for her.

He loved her so much. Maker, how he loved her. He never wanted her to leave. He wanted them to remain here, together, no matter what.

It was strained, as he was a married man and a king to boot; either he had to smuggle her into his room when Anora was away or sneak into her room to see her. Less than ideal.

But he needed her.

As often as he was able, he spent the night with her. Sometimes there was a great gap between their meetings.

It wasn't rare for them to find each other anxious, wanting and hungry in the dark of their rooms. On these nights, they would all but devour each other, passionately and wildly making love until the wee hours of the morning. Afterward, he would hold her to him, her head cuddled against his chest until they were forced apart again.

A few months after the defeat of the archdemon, Alistair noticed a change in her.

She looked… more fragile. Paler, if it were possible to become paler than her natural moon-like skin. He could see the circles under her eyes, and she spent more time with Leliana than anyone else. Then, for a whole week, he saw nothing of her. She was not in her quarters, on the training grounds, or anywhere else she usually dwelled in her spare time. Leliana's assurances that Surana was fine and still in the castle did little to calm him. He worried.

Anora went off to visit Highever, and that night, Surana slipped into his room.

He would always remember that night. His curtains were open, allowing the moonlight to spill through and illuminate her skin. Her hair was down for once, flowing in waves down her back. She wore nothing into the room save for a sheer white robe that she let pool at her feet at the door.

She was fierce and yet sensuous in her movements as she brought him to the brink of oblivion, her eyes glinting with determination. He lost himself in her, crying out her name again and again until the world faded into nothing but her.

When it was over and his arms went to their usual position around her, she clung to him right back, kissing his features as if for the last time.

"I love you, I love you," was all she said, over and over.

He couldn't break through the haze of distraction enough to realize what she was saying, what she was telling him.

This was her goodbye.

"I love you," was the last thing he whispered back before sleep claimed him, pulling him deep into unconsciousness.

When he awoke, she was gone.

* * *

><p>Before he left his room to search for her, he found a small piece of paper on the bed.<p>

A small note was all she had left for him. It read:

_Alistair,_

_I can't stay here anymore. I've gone to assist the Dalish in rebuilding and improving their relations with humans. It is likely you will never see me again._

_I didn't say goodbye because I knew if I did, you would have stopped me and I wouldn't have been able to go through with it. I shouldn't have interfered with the new life you need to make with your new wife. We both know I can't be in the background when you father an heir._

As he read this, a choked sound escaped Alistair's throat. He ignored it.

_Please, don't try to follow me. I have to do this. _We_ have to do this, for the good of Ferelden._

_I will forever remember the good times we had together and the love that we shared. I will never forget you, Alistair. You will be my first and last love. Please, forgive me. If it helps, forget me._

_Goodbye._

_All the love that I possess,_

_Surana_

He could barely finish reading before he broke down.

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><p>Despite her asking him not to, he searched for her. He sent scouts across Ferelden, into Orlais, over Amaranthine, even sending word as far as the Anderfels. He himself scoured the Brecilian Forest on horseback, searching every camp and ruin he found. He knew she was smart enough to evade them; but still, he hoped.<p>

Weeks passed, and they found nothing; no trace of her but rumors. Weeks turned to months, and months to years. Still nothing. Whispers said that the Hero of Ferelden had gone across the Waking Sea and into the Free Marches. It wasn't anything solid enough to go on, however, and so the Hero remained lost.

Though he didn't love Anora and she certainly didn't love him, the two developed an odd sort of understanding and friendship, and eventually they did have a son. A brilliant, long-limbed blonde boy with brown eyes.

At Alistair's insistence, they named him Duncan.

With Duncan, Alistair managed to keep himself together. His son would have the father Alistair wished he had, he promised himself.

And life went on.

* * *

><p>Leliana knew.<p>

She knew everything, and Surana hadn't left Ferelden without help. Leliana had provided the help that was needed for her best friend to escape with minimal notice.

And though almost no one else knew, she kept contact with the lost Hero of Ferelden. They traded words with Surana's brilliant spellcasting and Leliana's trained birds, and like that they kept each other up to date. They always remained in touch.

And because Leliana was the closest friend Surana had, she knew something no one else did.

She knew that Surana hadn't left Denerim alone. Not just with Fang.

She knew that when Surana had left the kingdom, she carried something very precious.

Something she wished, more than anything, that she could have told Alistair about.

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><p><strong>AN: this isn't the end yet, my dears. More to come, soon enough.**


	2. Remembering

**Part Two**

**I don't write long chapters or long stories. I prefer to hit the fast-forward button. **

**Quite a bit of this chapter is based off Dragon Age: Inquisition. I've stolen quite a bit of dialogue. **

**Once again, the timing is screwed up. This is an AU.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dragon Age and likely never will. **

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><p>Today was just not Lanaiya's day.<p>

She _needed_ mages. And this was what she got?

That Tevinter bastard, Alexius, had invited her here.

Wasn't that just _so_ nice of him?

So she decided to take him up on his offer and stroll right into his stolen castle. And when things didn't go according to plan, it all went to the void.

Being transported forward in time by a Tevinter mage with no one but a Tevinter mage was not high on her list of things she wanted to do in her life. She could have lived without watching Leliana, Solas, and Cassandra die. She really would have preferred it.

But then again, when did she ever get what she wanted?

She hadn't wanted this blasted mark. But whatever, she could take it; she was making do. She'd be damned if she let any of these fanatics have it.

Aaaaaaand she traveled through time.

Which was not fun. Like, at all.

But no matter her talk, she wasn't cruel. She understood what Alexius truly was: a father, desperately trying to save his son's life. So she let him go. She let him take his son and leave without punishment. She hoped she wouldn't later regret it.

And she didn't know how to feel about this latest surprise.

She had to admit though, Dorian was pretty cool about the whole thing. She liked him. And his mustache.

Lavellan watched with anxious amber eyes as the room slowly filled with soldiers on both sides of the hall, Dorian tense at her side. If she had to guess, she'd say they were Ferelden. And probably not too happy about what had happened in their castle.

"Or not," Dorian muttered.

She tucked her brown hair behind her ear, nervously shifting from foot to foot. If these soldiers were hostile, this would be very bad. Before she could reply to her companion, however, one more person stepped into the room.

He was tall and strong with short blonde hair that was combed back and kind eyes, the exact color as her own. He wore the finest brown furs and leathers she'd ever seen in her life. When he spoke, his voice was regal and unforgiving.

"Grand Enchanter. Imagine how surprised I was to learn you'd given Redcliffe Castle away to a Tevinter Magister."

The small enchantress meekly stepped forward. "King Alistair," she said in shock. Lanaiya's eyes widened. Wait...

"Especially since I'm fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan," he continued.

Fiona bowed slightly, obviously still stunned by the king's sudden appearance. "Your majesty, we never intended…"

His eyebrows lowered and he cut her off. "I know what you intended. I wanted to help you, but you've made it impossible." He shook his head sadly. "You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden."

"But… we have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?"

Shaking off her nervousness, Lanaiya stepped forward. "We still need mages to help close the Breach," she stated hopefully. She noticed Alistair's eyes drift to her Sylaise vallaslin over the left side of her face, studying it.

Fiona blinked and processed this. "And what are the terms of this arrangement?"

"Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you," Dorian drawled from Lanaiya's side. "The Inquisition _is _better than that, yes?"

The Grand Enchanter straightened. "It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer."

Lanaiya nodded respectfully. "We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition's side."

Fiona's eyebrows lifted, her face brightening. "A generous offer. But will the rest of the Inquisition honor it?"

Again, Lanaiya nodded. "The Breach threatens all of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided now. And we can't fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support."

"I'd take that offer if I were you," King Alistair advised, his expression still less than pleased. "One way or another, you're leaving my kingdom."

Fiona bowed her head in understanding. She looked ashamed, yet… proud, almost. "We accept. It would be madness not to."

Lanaiya smiled at the other elf.

"I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven," Fiona vowed. "The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance."

"I hope so," Lanaiya murmured quietly, watching Fiona leave and the King of Ferelden himself approach.

She wondered, briefly, what he thought of her and her 'rescue' of the mages.

All went silent; everyone waited for the king's reaction.

"So," he said finally after a moment. "That happened."

She managed to keep a straight face for less than two seconds before she burst into giggles. Gods, she needed sleep. And she'd likely just made a fool of herself in front of _royalty._ Solas and Cassandra looked at her sideways. "Sorry," she got out. "You're not… this isn't what I would have expected."

Alistair grinned. "You're not the first person to tell me that."

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><p>Lanaiya never would have expected a king to join the Inquisition himself. As in, offering himself as an actual fighter. When she received the message, she hadn't believed it. She still almost didn't, but when he came onto the training field in his Grey Warden armor, she accepted it. It was a sight, and she was pleasantly surprised.<p>

Alistair was still strong, even if he wasn't exactly young. How old was he anyway, she wondered... forty? Forty-five?

Damnit, she always got sidetracked.

It didn't matter, anyway. King Alistair was one of the best balanced fighters she'd ever seen, and Lanaiya had seen her fair share of fighters and fighting. She knew he would be a great asset to their cause.

She wondered why he'd taken up fighting in the first place.

And not long after they sealed the breach, they lost Haven.

Corypheus… now the enemy had a name. And a face. An _ugly_ face, if Lanaiya said so herself. And a warped, twisted body.

One that Lanaiya wanted to get her claws on. Claws, magic, daggers, fists, fireballs, whatever. The more painful, the better.

So, the Anchor. It was all about the bloody Anchor. She never wanted it, but she'd keep it. Just to piss off 'the Elder One'.

She _would not_ kneel. She _would not_ falter. She _would not_ give up. Not now, not ever. Not even an army of loony Templars could change that.

The Inquisition was still fighting, and they would continue. Corypheus had failed in Lanaiya's mind. She still had everything she needed.

When she finally made it up the mountain and collapsed into Cullen's arms, she'd never felt so... so... needed. It was a strange feeling. To be cared for by these strange shemlen. Cullen, Josephine, Cassandra, Leliana...

And they were all idiots.

What would it take for them to be satisfied? Did they argue simply for the sake of arguing?

The Cleric, faith unshaken, was the one who ended it.

Lanaiya had respected her before then, but now it was different.

The Dawn Will Come.

A simple phrase, yes? And yet it had every human singing and kneeling to her.

An elf. Just an elf with a strange mark on her hand.

Alistair was there, and he too sang, quietly but just enough to catch Lanaiya's attention. Though he had every right to be up with Cullen and the rest arguing, he chose to stay in the shadows and in the shadows he sang. His eyes... they were sad.

Her throat closed with emotion, but she crossed her arms over her chest and pretended to be indifferent.

"A word?"

Solas's voice jerked her out of her own mind and she quickly followed, tripping over her own feet in her haste, her cheeks tinting pink.

He went further up, leading her into a small clearing where a lone torch stood. A flick of his wrist had it flickering with blue flame, and it glinted off his eyes. Lanaiya was mesmerized.

"The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Her faith is hard-won, lethallin," he told her. "Worthy of pride… save one detail.

"The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived… and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people."

Lanaiya processed this, tilting her head to the right slightly. She believed him. "Okay. What is it, and how do you know about it?"

Solas shifted from one foot to the other, hands folded behind his back. "Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remain are references in ruin, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb _is _elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith."

She sighed. "Even if we defeat Corypheus, eventually they'll find a way to blame elves."

The corners of Solas's lips turned up slightly. "I suspect you are correct. It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies. Faith in you is shaping this moment, but it needs room to grow.

"By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed _you._

"Scout to the north. Be their guide.

"There is a place that waits for a force to hold it.

"There is a place where the Inquisition can build… grow…

_"Skyhold."_

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><p><strong>Reviews are appreciated and rewarded with a swift update.<strong>


	3. Regret

**Part Three**

**I am horrible at writing stories, but this one... I have put quite a bit of feeling into this story. **

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Bioware, thus I do not own Dragon Age.**

**WARNINGS: Violence.**

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><p>Maker, who was this tiny girl? And what in Andraste's name was she doing, leading all these people? Why did they follow? Why did they all trust her? Why did <em>he<em> trust her?

Alistair stood out in the snow, staring up at the grand walls of Skyhold as the rest of the Inquisition marched in.

Unwillingly, his mind was drawn to a memory he had of a similar woman.

It had been so long. His mind was lonely and longing for even a reminder of her.

But, he supposed, this Dalish woman _did_ resemble his Surana. They didn't have the same hair color, as Lanaiya's was lighter, but it was just as wavy as Surana's. Her eyes were far from Surana's forest green ones, but they were the same shape. They had the same sort of tone of voice. They had the same pale skin.

And goodness, could they overcome incredible odds.

He sighed. He'd never stopped thinking of her that way, as _his_ Surana. Even after all these years. He wondered what she'd think of him now. He wondered what she'd think of his son, Duncan. He wondered what she'd think of this odd, young Dalish girl.

Ah, well. He was glad to be in the grey warden armor again. He may as well make himself useful, he thought. Since Anora had given birth to Duncan, he wasn't the only Theirin heir. He could fight in this war himself now.

As he turned, he noticed Leliana trudging towards him. She stopped a couple feet away and bowed her head respectfully.

Alistair's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "It's good to see you again, Leliana."

"And you, King Alistair," she replied, returning his smile. "I had a feeling you would be drawn to the Inquisition at one point or another."

"Well," he scratched the back of his neck with a gloved hand. "You know how it is. It seems you and I are always drawn to a hopeless cause."

"I believe in the Herald," Leliana said.

"I do, too." He agreed. "She reminds me of her."

"What?"

"Lanaiya. She reminds me of… _her_."

Leliana paused for several moments, attempting to read him. "I'm sorry, Alistair. I know you loved her very much."

Alistair's face fell. "I really did. I still do."

"I'm sorry," she repeated. He would never understand the guilt she felt when he brought her up; she could never tell him what had become of her. And she hated it.

"Don't be," Alistair said dismissively. He sounded very, very tired. "It's not your fault she's gone."

"She's not dead."

Alistair scrutinized her. "How can you know that? If she _is_ alive, does she know about the Breach? About Corypheus?"

"She and I never lost touch. She knows of the Breach, but not of Corypheus. I haven't gotten the chance to write to her."

"You…" Alistair fell silent, his eyes narrowing. "You never told me!" he snapped. "It's been, what, seventeen, eighteen years? And you never told me she was alive? That she wrote to you?"

Leliana flinched. "I'm sorry, Alistair. She commanded me not to tell you."

"Of course she did. Of course she did," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "Will you write to her now, then?"

With a half-smile, Leliana took a small step forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you, Alistair?"

He looked up at her, looking nervous. "What, me? She doesn't … she wouldn't want to hear from me."

"She's never said anything like that in her letters. Why don't you just try? I'll send it to her for you. Tell her about Corypheus, tell her about the Inquisition. I'm sure she wants to know."

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><p>His first letter to her in over fifteen years. Well, that wasn't exactly true. He'd written dozens of letters each year, sending them with scouts in each direction in hopes of finding her, hoping she'd hear him.<p>

But yes, over fifteen years. Maker, had it really been that long? He had a 14-year-old son now. Things had changed.

He shook his head. This would never change.

Her goodbye was still folded neatly in his trunk.

_This_ would never change. Surana was the only one who ever had or ever would touch his heart. Of that, he was certain.

And he would not let this chance slip by.

He pulled out his quill and began writing.

* * *

><p><em>Oh, Creators, no, not this… not again…<em>

_But she's back at Redcliffe, trying to find a way to save them when she knows she can't. She knows they must do this. She knows they must die._

_But she wants to fight it. She wants to protect them, even if they are merely shadows of what may come. They are hers; under her command and she feels as if she's failed them. She wants to hug Leliana. She wants to shake Cassandra's hand. She wants to kiss Solas's cheek._

_But there's no time… no time…_

_Dorian says they need an hour._

_Even with the doors shut, she can hear them. She hears the fighting, Solas's fireballs as they boom and hiss against the stone of the castle; Cassandra's blade clashing against the steel of her attackers._

_She can't save them._

_And finally the doors burst open, and this wound would be painful enough if she did not see them, see Solas's face as they carelessly threw his corpse into the room._

_And gods, it hurts… she _cannot_ see this… but she can't look away._

_Leliana is a blur, firing arrow after arrow into the demon army as they march towards them. She is praying, and Lanaiya can hear her._

_"Maker, take me to your side."_

_The arrow that strikes Leliana's chest feels as if it has also pierced Lanaiya, standing helpless as Dorian attempted to reverse the spell. Leliana's cry of pain makes her want to set the room ablaze with her magefire. She aches for it, but Dorian stops her, saying she cannot move._

_Leliana is still moving, still fighting even as the blood drips down her chest. As her enemies draw closer she whips them in the face with the end of her bow, knocking them off balance. She's nimble and quick, but even she can't stand against the Elder One's forces. She is brave. She is very brave. Even as they catch her and prepare to kill her, she is defiant, she is strong. Lanaiya feels as if her heart has shattered into sharp edges that cut into her chest._

_No, no, no…_

Lanaiya bolted upright in bed, tangled in the sheets of her new quarters, breathing hard.

With shaking fingers, she gently pushed her hair out of her face. _No. It was not them. Not really_, she insisted to herself. She should forget it. Forget it like she'd forced herself to at Redcliffe.

She did not want to revisit that memory. She wouldn't anymore. She wouldn't think about it.

* * *

><p>Hawke was… an interesting woman, to say the least.<p>

Then again, that might be said about anyone who stopped a horde of rampaging qunari.

But still, Hawke impressed Lanaiya. She was a good, kind-hearted woman who stood up for what she believed in. Beneath her diplomatic, humorous exterior however, Lanaiya could sense a lot of sadness, quite a bit of pain…

Hawke was also _furious_ that Corypheus had escaped her.

"I thought I'd killed him before. This time I'll make sure of it." And Hawke said it with a finality that made Lanaiya believe it.

Hawke was a leader. And she was a good one because she made everyone want to believe in her. Lanaiya was grateful now that Varric had brought her here. It seemed they still needed their heroes.

But another hero before her caught the Inquisitor's attention: the elven mage who united Ferelden and struck down the blight. No one seemed to know much about her except Cullen.

"I attended her Harrowing, actually. She was a lovely woman."

Lanaiya grinned, bumping his shoulder playfully. "'Lovely', huh?"

Cullen crossed his arms. "There was some… youthful infatuation on my part. A feeling I had forsaken until recently."

Tilting her head, she asked, "You never acted on it?"

"She was one of my charges," he explained. "Even if she felt the same, it would have been… inappropriate.

"I saw her once after she became a Warden," he continued. "She freed the Tower during the Blight. I would be dead or mad if not for her." He paused, frowning slightly. "I was in a sorry state when she found me. The things I said were… unkind. Untoward. I regret them now. I wish she knew that."

She was glad she asked Cullen about her. And she hoped that if they actually did bring the hero here, he could apologize to her.

But Varric was the one everyone pointed her at when she asked for information. He was the encyclopedia of knowledge; he was the storyteller.

So she hunted down Varric.

* * *

><p>"Varric?"<p>

The dwarf, one of the few people left in the tavern, turned from his drink to face the Inquisitor. "Yes? What is it, Twinkles?"

Lanaiya huffed, crossing her arms. "Why do you call me that?"

Varric shrugged. "Would you prefer Sparkles, or maybe Cupcake?"

Lanaiya looked horrified. Varric laughed, gesturing for her to sit. "I give people nicknames. Your name is kind of a mouthful, and you use a lot of flashy spells."

"If you think I'm 'flashy', then maybe you should watch Dorian fight sometime." She took the seat beside him and scooted up to the table. "Keeper Deshanna told me I was named after my mother."

"Ah," Varric murmured. "You didn't know your mother, I take it?"

Lanaiya shook her head. "No. I was told she died when I was born. The Keeper said she was a powerful mage who ran away from the Circle."

"I don't doubt that," Varric told her earnestly. It took a lot of wit and guts to escape and evade the Circle and the templars. "What about your father?"

"I don't know who he is. Or was, at least. The Keeper said that he was a brave warrior that she'd never met. He never joined the clan, and he's probably dead."

The dwarf's face fell slightly with sympathy. "I'm sorry, kid. Anyway, what was it you needed? I'm sure you didn't come over here just to discuss your family tree."

Lanaiya nodded. "You knew Hawke and travelled with her for years, so I was wondering if you'd ever met the Hero of Ferelden. I was hoping we might bring her here, to help the Inquisition."

Varric leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Which one?"

Lanaiya's brow furrowed in confusion. "There's more than one?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "We've both met King Alistair Theirin. Well, sort of. But I've seen nothing of Surana except a few paintings."

"Why not?" Lanaiya asked. "You seem to meet quite a few people."

"Surana disappeared from Ferelden nearly twenty years ago," he explained. "Been no trace of her since, or so I'm told."

"But that's ridiculous," she protested. "She saved Ferelden and the rest of the world from the Blight and she simply disappears? Why didn't they search for her? Wasn't she important?"

"They did. I heard King Alistair himself rode across the country searching for her."

Alistair _did?_ Maybe Lanaiya would ask him about that. "Why? Why didn't he just send other people to do it for him? He is a king."

"Have you never heard the stories?" Varric wondered. Lanaiya shook her head, leaning in hopefully.

Varric sighed in disbelief and stood up. "Maybe you should go ask Leliana to tell it to you, then."

"What? Why?"

"Because Leliana was there when it all happened. She actually met Surana, and they were friends for a long time. I know the story, but Leliana knows the truth."

* * *

><p>Lanaiya was fairly sick of running around and hunting people down.<p>

But she'd be damned if they didn't at least _try_ to find some allies.

And if Leliana was their best bet to do that, then Lanaiya would chase her to the Anderfels.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, though.

Leliana was just outside the Chantry, humming an unknown tune.

"Sister Leliana?"

"Hmm?" She murmured as she turned. "Hello, Lanaiya. What do you need?"

The elf stopped a moment, to catch her breath. "You… knew the Hero of Ferelden?"

Leliana nodded sagely, her face serious. "I do."

Lanaiya's brows furrowed. "Do you know where she is?"

"I do."

"Can you contact her?"

Leliana folded her arms behind her back. "I can," she admitted. "But I don't know if it is wise to summon her."

"Why?" Lanaiya demanded.

Leliana looked around, as if to make sure no one was listening. "Do you not know the tales?"

Lanaiya rolled her eyes impatiently. "No, I haven't, which is why Varric told me to ask you."

Leliana blinked, then looked over at Iron Bull, Dorian, and Solas; likely discussing fighting styles. Or maybe how appalling Solas's fashion sense was. "Very well, Inquisitor. I will tell you. It's a long story, so I'll only do it once; whoever else wants to hear it is welcome."

* * *

><p>Later, with all the listeners gathered around her and her face illuminated by the candlelight, Leliana started her tale.<p>

Dorian was there, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Iron Bull was seated in a chair not far away. In front of him on the floor were Lanaiya and Solas, legs crossed. Beside Iron Bull was Varric, eager to learn how close his own story was to the truth. Next to him was Cullen, his expression a mix between curiosity and regret. A few other people had also decided to listen in, people who Lanaiya didn't yet know. They all quieted when Leliana cleared her throat.

"It was a long time ago. Nineteen years. I was a cloistered sister then, living in the Lothering Chantry..."


	4. Vigilance

**Sweet Maker, Inquisition fiction is a bitch to write.**

**More of the Inquisition, a hint of Solas, and a peek in on Surana.**

**WARNINGS: Violence, some adult language**

**DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own Dragon Age. **

**I hope you enjoy. I apologize for any errors. **

**Leave a review.**

* * *

><p>Though she'd tried to avoid it many times, Lanaiya drifted into the Fade. Straight into his arms.<p>

_"I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts." His hand reaches out, pointed at the sky. "I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…"_

_A flash of memory, a bright green light._

_He turns back to face her. "It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture… And right then, I felt the whole world change."_

_Her heart rate kicks up, and pinkness tints her cheeks. Her breath is short, her words quiet when she asks, "Felt the whole world change?"_

_He smiles, his blue eyes warming and making him look younger. "A figure of speech."_

_"I'm aware of the metaphor," she assured him. "I'm more interested in 'felt'."_

_His face turns serious and he tells her, "You change… everything."_

_Her heart beats even faster than before. She knows she has a choice here. She can try this with him, or she can walk away. She doesn't even have to think about it._

_Mustering her courage, she glances up into his old blue eyes. "Sweet talker," she murmurs, looking down. He starts to turn away but she catches his face and presses her lips to his in a chaste kiss._

_Then she pulls away, content to leave it at that, when _he _catches her, and with passion she'd been afraid to feel, kisses her hungrily._

_Her face tilts to the side and her arms go around him, one at his shoulder and one at his waist, and he gently nudges her lips apart. His tongue touches hers and she melts into his embrace._

_He kisses her once more, then pulls back with a slight frown. "We shouldn't. It isn't right. Not even here."_

_She touches her lips with trembling fingertips. "What do you mean, even here?"_

_"Where did you think we were?"_

_For the first time, she considers where she is. Haven. But Haven was… "This isn't real," she realizes._

_"That's a matter of debate… probably best discussed after you _wake up_."_

She jerked up in shock, clutching the bedspread. Creators, she had to stop waking up like this.

Bah. She'd get him for... _seducing_ her in her sleep.

Out of context, it sounded much worse than what it was, she noted.

* * *

><p>The more Lanaiya traveled with Hawke, the more she liked her.<p>

Hawke's tales were almost as incredible as Varric's, but Lanaiya had a feeling that her's were actually true. The picture she painted of Kirkwall and the qunari was a realistic one; Lanaiya appreciated her honesty. As they spent more time together, Hawke began telling of her brother, Carver; then when she'd finished, she told them about her companions, Aveline, Anders, Isabela, Merrill, Fenris, and Sebastian.

Aveline was rough and strong and Captain of the guard. Hawke had witnessed her first husband's death.

Anders was a mage of the Ferelden Circle who fled his Grey Warden duty and started the mage rebellion. Hawke let more venom drip into her voice as she mentioned him.

Isabela was a dark-skinned beauty of a pirate captain who was one of Hawke's closest and strangest friends.

Merrill was a Dalish elven mage. She was cute and innocent and Hawke spoke of her with great fondness.

Fenris was another elf. Hawke gravely told them of his slavery, of the lyrium branded into his skin, and his fight for freedom from a master who would not stop hunting him.

Sebastian, however, Lanaiya could tell was different. When she spoke of him, her eyes filled with affection and she smiled sadly. Lanaiya knew she missed him. Hawke told them that he waited for her in Starkhaven, where he had become prince.

"He wanted to come here with me, but I made him stay. He would have hated himself for leaving his people, even only for a few weeks."

Lanaiya could tell she loved him. It was strange, and it made her seem... more human. Or more like a person, really.

* * *

><p>The more Lanaiya heard about Corypheus, the more she wanted to wipe him off the face of the world.<p>

Every warden in Orlais, hearing the Calling and thinking they're dying? Because of this? Because of Corypheus?

_He_ so _has to die_, she told herself.

And King Alistair was a Warden, as well. He'd explained it to her when he'd joined the Inquisition. _He must feel it too_, she realized. _He must think he's dying, as well._

A wave of guilt hit her as she realized that it was _her_ fault he was even here.

But now was not the time for that. Stroud was right; they needed to get answers.

When they neared the Western Approach, Lanaiya felt the stir of magic around her, tainted with the coppery lure of blood. Oh, dear. Solas was glaring at the ruins; it was likely he could sense it too.

"Whatever lies inside won't be pretty," Hawke warned. "You take point. I'll guard your backs."

She fell back, and Lanaiya and her companions stepped forward, readying themselves.

There were demons. Oh gods, the Wardens were… actually _killing_ each other? She scowled, disgusted.

Lanaiya shook her head slowly as she moved in closer, the man in charge of the slaughter becoming clearer with each step. He had black hair tied behind his head, and he had a mustache and a goatee.

"Inquisitor," he greeted. "What an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium," he bowed. "At your service."

"You are _no_ Warden," Stroud spat.

"But you are," he sighed. "The one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?"

Lanaiya took another step forward. "I've killed demons before," she told him, remembering her encounter. It was not something she wished to relive, but if the Wardens were corrupt… "If I have to kill a few warden mages as well, so be it."

"You may have to kill a few, yes," he agreed. "Wardens, hands up."

The Warden mages lifted their left hands.

"Hands down."

They let their hands drop.

"Corypheus has taken their minds," Stroud insisted.

"They did this to themselves," Livius countered. "You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked _everywhere_ for help."

"Even Tevinter," Stroud growled through his teeth.

"Yes. And since it was my _master_ who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared," Livius explained. "I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan… Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake."

"Oh," Lanaiya breathed sarcastically. "I was wondering when the demon army would show up."

"You knew about it, did you?" he asked, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice. "Well, then, here you are. Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They're now my master's slaves.

"This was a test," he continued. "Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas."

"Why are you so keen to see the world fall to the Blight?" she hissed. "What do you get out of it?"

"The Elder One commands the Blight. He is not commanded _by _it, like the mindless darkspawn. The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool."

"Somebody's certainly a tool," Varric muttered. Lanaiya had to bite her lip to keep from grinning.

"As for me," Livius continued, glaring at the dwarf. "While the Elder One rules from the Golden City, we, the Venatori, will be his god-kings here in the world."

"Why would the Wardens try to kill the Old Gods?" Lanaiya demanded.

"A blight happens when darkspawn find an Old God and corrupt it into an Archdemon. If someone fought through the Deep Roads and killed the Old Gods before they could be corrupted… Poof! No more Blights. Ever. The Wardens sacrifice their lives and save the world," he replied.

"That's madness!" Solas interjected. "For all we know, killing the Old Gods could make things even worse!"

"Well, then, it's a good thing I'm taking this demon army off their hands," Livius said smugly.

"You think you can stand against me with just demons and a Fade rift?" Lanaiya sneered. "Did Corypheus not mention what I did to the Breach?"

"He did," Livius snapped back. "He also noted what he did to _you_ at Haven."

And then red light exploded from his now-outstretched left hand, reaching for her mark. Lanaiya hunched over, grabbing at her green-glowing hand.

"The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again," Livius said. "That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master. He's been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade."

Gritting her teeth, Lanaiya straightened and brought the mark up, tearing it down upon him as he tried to continue his tirade. He cried out in surprise and fell.

When he'd regained his feet, he reminded her of a whiny child. "Kill them!" he ordered the demons and Wardens. They snapped to attention as he hobbled away and drew their weapons.

Her companions leapt into action; Stroud, Blackwall and Hawke drawing their steel, Varric snatching up Bianca, and Lanaiya and Solas preparing their staves.

It didn't take long. Solas and Lanaiya were greatly matched, their magical skills complimenting each other as they casted spell after spell into the fray.

Blackwall was all strength and skill, as was Stroud, and Hawke's twin daggers were a blur.

And Varric was… well, Varric. He was the best, and she understood why Hawke had come to rely on him over the years.

One final explosion of gore, and it was over.

And it now, it was Livius Erimond's turn.

* * *

><p>The <em>bastard.<em>

It was bad enough that he had escaped her. Now she had to face a bloody _Grey Warden army_, some of the best fighters in Thedas.

Suffice to say, Adamant Fortress was a _bitch_.

Lanaiya, Solas, Blackwall, and Stroud had laid waste to the walls, killing and throwing the Wardens into the fortress. The demons were harsh and unrelenting, but Lanaiya fought like an archdemon.

There weren't many, but some of the Wardens listened to reason and fell back to safety willingly.

Many others weren't so smart, or so lucky.

And maybe it wasn't such a good time to notice it, but Solas was incredible with his spellcasting. He was strangely beautiful in the way he moved… He was an unstoppable force of nature, raw passion and ferocity. He moved so gracefully as he casted and dodged. It made her chest warm with pride.

She was glad Hawke was up there with her on the battlements, her cries of rage echoing in the darkness as she fought the giant pride demon. It swung it's huge claws at her again and again, but she nimbly ducked and rolled, slashing at it's back. It roared in fury.

"Protect my troops as best you can!" Lanaiya had shouted to her over the sounds of battle when the final demon fell. Hawke had nodded, and rushed to help the Inquisition's forces.

The second pride demon did not fall as easily, as Hawke was not there to aid them, but they eventually brought it down as Solas cast a blissard over the demon's massive head. It screamed in confusion, and Cassandra finished it with a leaping slash to it's throat.

"We must hurry!" Solas told her. "Our forces cannot stand against the demons for long!"

As if Lanaiya didn't know. She could see them, she could hear them as they fought and died. She had to move faster.

When they finally neared where Warden Commander Clarel was, Hawke rejoined them and Lanaiya could hear Stroud hoping that they'd be able to reason with the Warden-Commander.

Lanaiya didn't get her hopes up.

Of course Erimond was already there, poisoning her mind with his words. "Stop them!" he cried. "We must complete the ritual!"

Lanaiya could feel Stroud's hopeful eyes on her back. She had to try to reason with Clarel; she had to at least try. "Clarel, if you complete that ritual, you're doing exactly what Erimond wants."

Erimond snapped something back at her, but Lanaiya only paid attention to Clarel. It was her decision.

She thought Corypheus was dead.

There was no changing her mind.

"Bring it through!" Clarel ordered.

"Please," Hawke begged. "I have seen more than my share of blood magic! It is never worth the cost!"

"I trained half of you myself!" Stroud shouted. "Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!"

Some of the Wardens looked unsure. Others looked guilty. The rift split wider.

Lanaiya looked around her, her gaze finally landing on Blackwall. "Blackwall," she pleaded. "Can you talk some sense into them?"

Blackwall nodded. "You don't know me," he told the Wardens. "But you may have heard my name. Like you, I've given my life to the Grey Wardens. The first time I put on this armor, I felt like I belonged, like I was part of something honorable, something with a purpose. I know how good that feels. How safe. But fighting and dying here today won't stop the Blight.

"If you want to stop the Blight, kill that bastard up there. His master is the living embodiment of it's corruption!"

Even more Wardens looked doubtful.

She could see Clarel exchange a few words with Erimond that she could not hear. Then he banged his staff on the ground. "My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!"

Above them, an earsplitting screech filled the skies.

Oh, Gods.

A dragon, dark as night, swept out of the cloud cover and spat fire over them. Lanaiya scrambled to get out of the way.

It circled above them, then landed behind them and roared, flapping it's monstrous wings.

And suddenly, Erimond fell.

Clarel!

Lightning shot from her fingers and straight into the beast's chest. It roared again, spitting at her. Lanaiya couldn't see if she'd gotten out of the way in time as the dragon took to the skies once more.

"Help the Inquisitor!"

Clarel's order was loud and clear. And like the honorable woman they knew she was capable of being, she took off after the dragon.

* * *

><p>Surana blinked in the early morning sunlight, watching the Dalish children play and fight with sticks and strings as bows, pretending to shoot each other, battling for Dalish lands. Both sides claimed that they were the true elves, and that the children of the other side were the shems.<p>

One of the smaller children was slower on her little legs. Her cheeks were plump and reddened with exertion, and her hair was red and parted into two braids. She must have been around four or five years old, while the others were seven, eight, and nine. She couldn't keep up with them, and they left her behind. She frowned, her lower lip jutting out.

Surana smiled down at her, and the little girl eagerly lifted her stick, as if in a threatening manner and released the imaginary arrow.

Surana gave a dramatic cry of "Oh no! I've been shot!" she fell backward into the soft grass with a quiet thump. The little girl squealed with delight, raising her stick above her head. Then she triumphantly turned and paraded over to the Keeper, enthusiastically telling of her victory.

Twice had Surana refused to become the Keeper's First now. The Keeper had always been gracious and kind, but she knew the other elves wouldn't be happy about a city elf taking that honorable place among the camp. She would be their healer, and she was content with that. She was damn good at it too, and no amount of resentment from the others would change that.

With the help of her obsidian staff, she got to her feet when a movement above her caught her eye.

Leliana's pidgeon flew overhead, blocking out the sunlight for a moment, circling over their Dalish camp north of the Free Marches a few times before landing on the silver crescent moon of her staff.

The letter in it's grip was different. Not Leliana's; Leliana used a certain color of paper.

No, someone else must have written it, or Leliana had run out of paper.

She ripped off the seal and unrolled it curiously, scanning briefly over the ink. Her breathing stopped as she recognized the somewhat sloppy handwriting.

_Surana,_

_I don't know if you'll get this, or if you'll even read it. You'll no doubt immediately know it's from me. But if you do, I just…_

_I just want you to know I haven't forgotten you._

Oh, Maker. Her breath caught in her throat. Alistair.

_I'm travelling with Leliana and the Inquisition for now while Anora stays in Ferelden. I imagine you know about the Breach. The Inquisition is trying to contain it._

_Speaking of, the leader of the Inquisition is a lot like you. She's an elf, she's a mage, and she doesn't let anyone tell her something is impossible. Reminded me of you in a heartbeat._

_She's so young. She can't be more than eighteen, and yet she's leading the Inquisition like it's nothing. You were about nineteen when you stopped the Blight, right?_

_She looks like you, too. She's so delicate, it's a wonder she doesn't snap in half with all the fighting she does. She's pale as the moon, but she's got a Dalish marking on her cheek. I find it rather interesting, in fact. She's breaking many hearts, too. _

_She's so much like you it's scary._

_Maker, Surana… I miss you. _

_I know it's probably pointless, but I hope you come back. I want you to come back. Please come back._

_Oh, and please don't crumple this up or set it on fire or feed it to that blasted mabari you likely still have running around. Paper isn't good for them, I hear._

_Alistair_

With a quiet sob, she re-read the letter and turned it over to see if there was post-script.

Wait… behind his letter was another sheet of paper, with unfamiliar handwriting. Surana's eyes narrowed.


	5. Return

_"Every word from you only strengthens my resolve. I will destroy you, and I will save my people."_

No one dared speak of what happened in the Fade when they returned to Adamant. They did not want to risk angering her, or worse, hurting her.

In everyone else's mind, they were victorious. In Lanaiya's, however, she had failed. She'd lost Stroud, and she had no one to blame but herself. It was him, or Hawke.

She hadn't known either of them particularly well, but Lanaiya knew that Hawke had a brother and a prince waiting for her out there. She didn't want them to know the pain of losing her too soon.

Stroud appeared as if he were alone. And she'd sacrificed him for it.

* * *

><p>Less than a week after Leliana sent the two letters to Surana, one letter with an elegant <em>Alistair<em> scrawled on the envelope arrived in response.

Leliana sent it to him immediately, hardly able to contain her excitement; how long had she waited for this day?

At first, Alistair looked puzzled at it for a moment; then he ran, straight to his quarters as fast as his legs could carry him. He shut the door behind him and ripped the letter open, looking over her still-familiar handwriting.

Then he stopped, frozen. He couldn't be reading this. This…

_Alistair,_

_I have a confession to make._

_When I left Denerim eighteen years ago, I left something out in my goodbye letter._

_I didn't think it would be a good idea to tell you, but I know now that I shouldn't have kept it from you._

_All those years ago, just before I left, I learned that I was with child._

_Your child._

_I knew that Anora wouldn't be pleased to know that her husband would have a bastard-child, and I didn't want my little girl to live a life of being feared and hated, the way we were._

_So I fled, and I joined the Lavellan clan that travels the Free Marches, and there, I gave birth to a girl._

_A beautiful girl with brown curls and amber eyes._

_I named her Lanaiya, and gave her to the Keeper to raise. She believes her parents are both dead. She believes me only to be a healer who used to be a mage from the Kirkwall circle, and she knows nothing of her father._

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you._

_Forgive me._

_Surana_

Alistair stood, staring at the letter for several minutes.

His child.

His daughter. He had a daughter with Surana.

"My… I have… She's…" He stuttered, looking for words but finding none.

And then, in a totally unmanly display (that he would later deny), the king of Ferelden fainted.

* * *

><p>"Halt!" the young man guarding Skyhold's gate shouted.<p>

The hooded figure and it's shadow hesitated, but stayed where they were a few yards away. The person was slim, petite; likely a woman. In her shadow was a massive mabari hound, obediently sitting beside her as she stopped. A long, beautiful black staff was strapped to her back, a silver crescent moon at the top.

"State your name and business in Skyhold."

Again, the figure hesitated. Then, quietly, she said, "Surana."

"Surana who?" he asked rudely. "What is your surname?"

"Surana _is_ my surname." Her voice was hard, irritated.

"What's your first name?"

"I don't use my first name," she protested.

"Give your full name!" he demanded. "And tell me your business here!" At this point, a few of the other guards joined him, watching the strange woman with suspicion.

She took a deep breath, seeming to consider things. They waited.

Then she pulled back her hood with a finely gloved hand, revealing her lovely elven features and piercing green eyes, her chin lifted defiantly. She raised her voice enough for everyone watching to hear. "I am Lanaiya Marida Surana, Hero of Ferelden, and I am here at the request of King Alistair Theirin and Inquisitor Lavellan."

She may as well have dropped a fire bomb.

* * *

><p><em>"Inquisitor!"<em>

Lanaiya Lavellan jolted upright in her chair, jerking her head around to the door just in time to see it burst open, revealing a flustered Solas. He was panting, and he looked as if he'd just seen an archdemon.

"What is it? What's happening?" she asked, standing up.

"It's _her_," he told her. "She's here, the Hero of Ferelden."


	6. What Are You Reading?

**I'm back!**

**Sorry for the wait. Been juggling quite a bit.**

**Reunion in this chapter, and a bit of Sera humor at the end.**

* * *

><p>Now that he knew who Lanaiya Lavellan really was, he had no idea how to react. He wanted to tell her the truth, but she barely knew him. Why would she take the word of a Warden she barely knew, even if he was a king? He didn't know how to treat her, now that he knew.<p>

These thoughts echoed in his mind as he made his way to the war room, but a commotion near the gates caught his eye. Curious, he drew closer to see what was happening. A crowd had gathered, and more and more people were rushing over.

Then suddenly, the crowd parted slightly, and Alistair saw someone he thought he might never see again as she walked through.

It was _her._ He knew that gracefully slim frame; he'd held it against him as he slept. He'd kissed those pale, plump lips countless times; in rain, in sunshine, in snow, and everything in between. He'd seen it drawn down in firm frowns, curved upward and amused, parted and breathless. He knew those eyes; he knew every look she could give, from angry and disapproving to jubilant and excited. They had haunted his dreams since the day he'd first seen them.

Her hair was shorter than he remembered; now it was cropped short and wispy over her forehead and the hair at the back just past her neck. She wore a deep green Dalish robe which came down to her knees, a string tied around her waist to hold it up, with layered stockings that let her toes peek out. She wore no shoes, though the hike up to Skyhold could be bitterly cold.

Her mage's staff was different, as well. The one that she carried during the blight was made of twisted grand oak branch; the one she carried now was incredible. At the top was a white silver crescent moon, sharpened like a blade at the edges. Curled around the moon was some sort of lustrous dark carved stone that curled all the way down to the ground. He'd never seen anything like it.

And beside her as always was Fang, her faithful hound. His fur was greying with age, but he was still fierce enough to scare away anyone who got too close to his mistress.

She walked from person to person as they crowded around her, asking and answering questions with an easy smile on her face.

He noticed she moved with a sort of unguarded vulnerability, something that seemed to tell of her lack of care for her own well-being. It worried him like nothing else about her.

She was still dangerous; without a doubt, she could easily count as a one woman army. After all, she had killed an archdemon and united Ferelden. It was just a small change in her demeanor; the barest shift of the way she carried herself. But Alistair was so attuned to everything that was_ her_, he picked up on it.

And he was determined to change it back.

Fang turned his head in Alistair's direction, sniffing the air. The dog barked excitedly at his mistress, wagging his stubby tail, and within a few bounds he was upon Alistair.

Alistair yelped in surprise; Fang was a tough dog, heavy with muscle. He probably weighed more than Surana herself. After a moment he laughed as Fang licked a stripe up the side of Alistair's face and he patted the mabari fondly.

The crowd went silent.

"Alistair?"

At her breathless whisper, his gaze flicked up. Amber eyes met forest green ones.

And as if those nearly twenty years had been nothing, she hurled herself back into his open arms.

* * *

><p>Lanaiya was ecstatic. Finally, after all these years, the Hero of Ferelden had shown herself, and for the Inquisition, no less. It was a grand achievement, and it meant they had yet another advantage against Corypheus. This woman had struck down a god before; how hard could another pretender be?<p>

Leliana had told her that Surana had disappeared from society for peace and quiet. It sort of made Lanaiya feel bad about dragging her back into the spotlight. But Surana would understand, right? She had to understand necessity.

She rushed down the stairs, taking them two at a time, nearly tripping in her haste and Solas hot on her heels. With one final bound she shoved through the door and stepped outside.

It was warm and sunny, and the soft breeze bore the promise of a good summer.

Almost no one was about, however; it was likely that Surana's sudden appearance distracted them. She sighed, knowing she couldn't blame them.

By the looks of things, everyone had gathered over by the gates. It was quite a crowd, and it was so thick that Lanaiya couldn't see the Hero. Everyone seemed to be there. She could make out the Iron Bull's horns, his chargers no doubt scattered around him; Dorian's staff, Cullen's blond head, Josephine's golden sleeve as she reached up to shield her eyes from the sun, and up in a tree to the right there was a shadow, a small, pale, upside-down face sticking out to watch the happenings below, her arms clinging to the tree branches. Her cute features were easily recognized, especially when one of her arms slipped and she started cursing like crazy.

Lanaiya was sure Varric was somewhere up there as well; the dwarf ended up in the spotlight more often than not. She walked forward and into the crowd, Solas's hand at her back to guide her.

"Make way for the Inquisitor!" he bellowed.

The crowd began splitting for them, pushing back so not to squish her as she moved through. The final two people before her stepped aside, allowing her to see what everyone had been trying to get a glimpse of.

King Alistair stood, quietly and still, in the center of the circle the crowd had created. His head was bowed, his arms curved protectively over something... or rather, someone.

In his arms was a familiar elven form... Lanaiya could have sworn she'd seen this woman somewhere before. The woman's eyes were shut tightly, and as the sunlight glinted off her cheeks it was evident that she'd been crying. Her lean arms were wrapped around the king right back, one hand in his blond hair and the other clutched tightly at the back of his tunic.

Beside them sat an old-looking mabari hound, his head bowed to the embracing couple. At Lanaiya's approach, his head swiveled around to look at her, his eyes seeming too intelligent to be an animal's. He gave one low bark of announcement, excited, and the familiar elven woman's eyes slowly opened. Shocked emerald eyes beamed out of her lovely face and her mouth fell open.

"Alistair," the woman breathed. "You can let me go, now."

His face was still buried in her hair as if he never wanted to face the world again. His voice came out, muffled. "No. I'm not letting you go. Not again."

The elven woman laughed. "That's not what I meant," she told him. "We just have someone who wishes to see us."

Finally, he picked up his head enough to see the Inquisitor and Solas, waiting patiently for them to speak. "Ah," he said. "Okay."

He released all but her hand, threading his larger fingers through hers, and the woman turned to fully face Lanaiya. Her spine straightened and she took in a deep breath.

"My name is Surana," she said simply. "I received the Inquisition's letter requesting my aid. I am at your disposal."

* * *

><p>Surana settled in quickly in the hold.<p>

Everyone was more than welcoming and accepting. They had to be; she possibly had more influence than the crown itself. They allowed her everywhere in the hold and offered her any information she could want.

Her first thought on being among society was relief. She hadn't realized until now how much she had missed it, being among people. And the Inquisition had people from everywhere, from Orlais and Ferelden to Antiva and the Free Marches. So many different cultures. It was quite thrilling, especially for one who had spent the past two decades mostly alone, travelling with a clan of stubborn elves.

Surana avoided the Inquisitor herself as much as she could, though she didn't really know why. Perhaps it was because she was afraid of giving something away; perhaps it was because Lanaiya would know the truth eventually, and she didn't want to be the one to tell it. Whatever her reasons, she only spoke to Inquisitor Lavellan when it was necessary.

Alistair had all but absorbed her into his day to day life. She didn't mind it one bit; she had missed him so much, more than she dared to say. Being with him now eased the pain of their long separation.

Not long after joining the Inquisition, she and he had had their fight about her leaving, but instead of harsh words and throwing heavy objects, it was quiet and heartbreaking.

"How could you just leave? With my child?"

Surana's eyes glinted in the torchlight of his quarters, standing alone in the center of the room with one arm wrapped around her. "It wasn't something _I_ wanted, Alistair. But it's not about what I want, it was about what was good for her, and for Ferelden. An elven bastard-child with the Hero of Ferelden would have caused a terrible stir and you know it."

He grimaced, covering his eyes and flopping into the nearest chair. "Why couldn't you have just told me? In your letter, at least? You know, the one I found in my cold bed that morning?"

She flinched as if he had hit her, and he felt as slimy as if he had. He knew she had her reasons. She was well within her rights.

"I couldn't tell you," she said slowly, "because I knew you would come after me. _I know you_, Alistair."

His face turned away from her, and for several moments he said nothing.

"I sent letters," he finally told her quietly. "Every year. Every month. I searched for every Dalish clan I could possibly find, in Ferelden and beyond. I waited. I waited for you, Surana."

He heard a quiet sniffle as he faced her once more, just in time to see the first tear slip down her cheek and hit the floor silently.

"I know." She took in a shuddering breathe. "I know about your son, Duncan. It's a good name," she complimented half-heartedly, her smile out of place on her sorrowful features. She blinked rapidly. "I've returned too late; I know."

She wasn't prepared for how fast he was.

In an instant, he was out of his seat and he caught her around the waist, pulling her to him. She gasped in surprise and his lips crashed into hers.

She stiffened in shock, a muffled noise escaping her. He didn't seem to notice, cupping her cheek. His lips were every bit as sweet as she remembered, moving gently and tenderly over hers. She surrendered with a sigh out her nose, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He kissed her again, then once more for good measure, before pulling back enough to speak. _"No."_

"But-"

"No," he repeated firmly.

He kissed her again, and Surana laughed. "You sure make a compelling argument."

He grinned down at her. "Good to know. But listen," he commanded. "I love my country and my son. They're fantastic, and more than I could have hoped for."

A wrinkle formed between Surana's brows and her lip jutted out slightly as she processed this.

"But you, everything you've done for me, for my country, for my son, for our daughter... I can't even begin to..." he hesitated, taking a deep breath. "You kept me waiting all these years. I will not let you get away from me again."

Surana was quiet for a moment. "When did you get so stubborn?"

"It's a long story, actually," he informed her. "See, this insane woman put me on the throne..."

She swatted at him playfully. "You are mean to me." Her eyes met his, and she beamed up at him. "I love you, Alistair."

Alistair grinned the goofiest, sappiest grin, relief swelling in his chest and spreading through his whole body. He swung her around him, grateful that his given room was spacious.

"I love you too."

In the end, she was were she belonged.

Now that she had returned, he scarcely let her out of his sight, and he never slept unless she was with him. He was always touching her, as well. Her hair, her hands, her shoulder, her waist, the small of her back. He often held her when his arms were free, keeping her close. It made her want to laugh, but it also made her want to cry. Had it really been as long as it had?

It was like he hadn't changed at all, almost. He was so gentle in the way he handled her. He seemed almost afraid to touch her, just like before. He held her with such a shy sweetness. It melted her heart just as it did all those years ago.

But he _had_ changed, somewhat. He was no longer as young as he had once been. Wrinkles were forming at the corners of his eyes from all the smiling and laughing he had done, and in Surana's opinion they were the most adorable wrinkles she'd ever seen. When she ran her fingers through his fine, wavy hair, she could see a few silver among the blonde.

But he was the same. He was still _her_ Alistair.

She knew now she was a fool to ever think he would forget her.

* * *

><p>"Sera! What are you <em>reading<em>?"

At her name, the bubbly young elf looked up, a twinkle in her eye. "What?"

Lanaiya sighed as she crossed her arms. She'd never seen Sera pick up a book before, let alone read it with such a wicked look on her face. The blonde elf giggled at her stern expression, lounging around in the small room she had claimed, the book open on her chest.

"I found it in Cassandra's things," she stated proudly. "And ooh, it's really bad. I don't do books, but this is..." she burst into giggles again. "C'mere, Herald, lookit." She closed the book and flashed Lanaiya the cover. On it was the picture of a woman in armor, sword and shield in her grip and copper waves flowing down her back. The title read 'Swords and Shields'.

"You stole Cassandra's... let me see." Lanaiya grabbed the book, opening it to a random page. She skimmed over the words before stopping at a passage to read it out loud. _"Her breasts strained against the leather jerkin like two wild stallions corralled against their will... _Oh, Creators!"

Sera rolled around on her bed, howling with laughter. Lanaiya glared at her, but couldn't help but join in.

"Are you sure you found this in _Cassandra's_ things? Not Varric's?"

"I'm positive," Sera told her. "It's her's, all right."

Lanaiya put a hand over her eyes. "Oh, gods. And you stole it?"

Sera nodded. "Yea. I wanted to see what it was about. I've seen her reading it all the time."

"All the time? That's even worse!" Lanaiya set the book on the windowsill. Then, deciding against it, she picked it back up. "We have to give it back to her."

Sera leaped to her feet. "NO! Nononono," she said quickly. "We have to do something with it."

The Inquisitor shook her head slowly. "What do you want me to do, Sera? Hide it in Cullen's knicker drawer?"

Sera pondered this, then nodded vigorously.

"_No_, Sera! Ugh," Lanaiya sagged against the door frame wearily. "Cassandra already thinks I'm immature."

Before Lanaiya could stop her, Sera snatched the book from her grasp and took off, dashing over the threshold and swinging nimbly down onto the floor below. The mage only hesitated a moment before following.

Just as she reached the door, however, she ran straight into a very angry looking Seeker, her face white with fury.

"Inquisitor!" she snarled. "That _elf_, Sera, stole my..." she paused, searching for the right word. "Reports!"

Cassandra became only slightly confused when the Inquisitor's face broke into a grin and she snorted.


End file.
